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She sat up suddenly and stared at the dark room. Was that why Justin had chosen separate rooms? Because he cared and thought she didn't? It made sense. She fumbled for the lantern and lit the wick. She would have to tell him
Ithe truth. As soon as she saw him. Then they could be together always.
A thought intruded on her happiness as she suddenly wondered if he planned to stay in Landing permanently. He hadn't said anything about it. If he was the rich man he claimed to be, not that she cared about the money, she had enough for them both, what would he do here? If he was planning to leave, would he expect her to go with him? Could she leave everything she'd known behind?
"It doesn't matter/' she said aloud and picked up the lantern. "We love each other. Everything else will work out fine. I know it will." She walked into the hall. It had to work out. She refused to lose Justin again.
Chapter Seventeen
J ustin didn't bother with a lamp when he unlocked the door and stepped into the sheriff's office. The faint glow of the moon outlined the three desks and he moved until he was sitting behind the one in the middle.
After opening the bottom right drawer, he pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey. He set the bottle on his lap, then raised his feet until his heels rested on the corner of the desk and he could stretch out in his chair.
It was quiet tonight. No drunks slept it off in the lone cell in back. He hadn't had to arrest more than a half-dozen troublemakers since he'd taken over as sheriff. The job wasn't hard or even time-consuming. He could be doing something else if he wanted. Maybe start up that horse ranch he'd been dreaming about ever since he'd had that job at the livery stable when he was a teenager.
He picked up the bottle, then set it down on the desk and closed his eyes. Had it really been that long ago when he'd quit school so he could make money to help out his mother? It felt as if it were just a couple of months ago. He'd still been on the scrawny side, getting beat up regularly by bigger boys who had nothing better to do than taunt the town bastard. His mother had cried over his cuts and bruises. She'd wept silent tears for his pain, and by the time she'd finished tending him, he'd been the one offering comfort.
Had she known the truth? he wondered. Had she figured out that the reason he'd stopped coming back beat up was that he was sending other boys home that way? Or had she
assumed he was getting along better? What would she say about his marriage to Megan Bartlett?
He didn't want to think about that, but he couldn't help it. Megan was as much a part of him as his soul. Ripping her out would cost as much. He suspected his mother would be pleased with the union and would only see what she wanted to see. That was how she'd survived her grim life living above the saloon, spending her days on her knees scrubbing and cleaning.
But it had all been for nothing. His job at the livery stable hadn't saved her. She'd died, despite his earnings. He'd come back to make the past right and had found himself caught up in it, instead. He was married to a woman who could never love him. The fragile peace with the town was meaningless in the face of his dilemma. How could he walk away from Megan? Knowing the truth, how could he bear to stay?
He leaned over and pulled open the top left drawer. In the back, tucked under a couple of wanted posters and some: bullets, was a small cloth bag. He drew it out and held it in his hand. Seven years ago, he'd gone back to the forest and spent the better part of a night looking for this. He opened the bag and tilted it so the slender gold chain spilled out onto his hand. He'd given it to Megan the afternoon he'd asked her to marry him. She'd tossed it back at him the afternoon she'd sent him away.
Justin held up the chain, turning his hand so that it caught the moonlight.
"I don't love you. You're a fool if you thought I ever did."
Her words screamed in the silence. The fact that he'd heard them more than seven years ago didn't lessen their impact.
"I know who my father is. You're just that bastard Justin Kincaid. You'll only ever be a bastard. Go away. Go away!"
He closed his fist over the chain, squeezing as hard as he could. The gold work was too fine to bite into his skin. He knew he could never create a physical pain to match the bleeding in his soul.
And now she cared about him. Seven years too late he found favor. Not because she loved him or needed him, but because he was accepted by the town. Because it was easy and the right thing to do.
